For What Ails You
by XtinethePirate
Summary: Whether he wants it or not, Obi-Wan needs a helping hand. Anakin obliges him with that and...other things. Written at the discovery that Obi-Wan's boots do, in fact, lace up. One shot, ObiWan-Anakin, R


I know, I know... it's been a while. But **Temple Mistress** made a post on her LJ where, after visiting an SW exhibit near her, she noted this detail about Obi-Wan's boots: _And under the flap, ladies? LACES. THEY ARE LACE-UP BOOTS. _She then pointed out to me the lack of boot!kink in our collected oeuvre. As a result, I am not to be held responsible for my actions.

Many many thanks to my dear **Wyndmir** for the encouragement, read-over, and too much love for one person. It was nice to revisit the fandom after being absent for a few years. :)

* * *

"This is ludicrous. I stopped needing help lacing my boots when I was a crecheling."

Unperturbed by his Master's grumbling, Anakin swept the edges of his cloak back and knelt on the carpet, tugging Obi-Wan's right foot toward him. Cupping the back of his Master's calf in one hand, he tugged the soft brown leather up higher, making sure the boot was snugly in place. He ducked his head slightly to hide his smirk; he could feel the heat of his Master's disapproval. Obi-Wan had a reputation for being charming and well-mannered, but being obliged to let anyone else care for him made him touchier than a Wampa woken by a Jedi falling on its head.

(Anakin, unfortunately, could draw this comparison from experience, although he still maintained that the falling-through-the-ice business was Obi-Wan's fault. It was his job to run recklessly after the bad guys; it was _Obi-Wan's_ job to yell warnings about the potential dangers of doing so.)

Obi-Wan sighed deeply, leg twitching irritably in Anakin's hand as the younger Jedi propped his Master's foot on his knee, freeing both hands to grab the boot laces. "If you move any slower, Padawan, the ship will leave before we're on it. By the Force, I'm not a child."

Anakin hooked his fingers in the crossed laces, implacable, and drew the first rows tight. "Master Luminara said that you were not to move your arm until it healed, Master," his own arms jerked sharply as he tightened the second and third rows. "You are always lecturing me to pay more respect to the Council's wishes."

Obi-Wan groaned, leaning his head against the back of the couch, entreating the Force silently for patience. Sith knew he was in trouble when Anakin started using logic against him—and even more so when it was his _own_ logic thrown back in his face. The implication that _he_ was the one being reckless and insubordinate was... well, it was likely true, which made it all the worse. He was supposed to be a good influence on Anakin; the reverse was, apparently, proving true.

Resolved to scowl at the ceiling for the rest of this humiliating exercise, Obi-Wan nevertheless had to glance down when Anakin made a muffled sound of frustration. His Padawan had somehow managed to get the laces snarled in the leather flap that protected them. Now he was holding the flap back with his left hand, laces curled around the fingers of his mechanical one... drawing the strings tight with his teeth.

Obi-Wan's throat went dry. He coughed, quickly returning to the fascinating study of the ceiling overhead. The Lebovitars were noted for their intricate murals, and the design above where he sat was positively _fascinating—_

His jaw tightened as Anakin's hand came to rest, warm and promising, on his thigh. "Master? I think I... um... may have wrecked your boots." The Padawan's voice was anything but apologetic, and Obi-Wan had to stay silent for a moment to make sure his own retort was properly remonstrating.

"Now you see why yours are Velcroed, Padawan."

Ignoring him completely, Anakin slid his hand under the fabric of Obi-Wan's tunic, deftly unlacing the front of his Master's trousers and slipping his fingers inside. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, chuckling softly as his body inevitably responded to Anakin's touch.

"And yet _those_ laces you can undo without even looking," he tried for exasperation, but the tone got lost somewhere in his throat, choked off on a soft moan as Anakin pushed his thighs more widely apart and leaned in, all smirking eyes and lush pink lips.

"Maybe because you don't whine every time I undo them?" Anakin suggested innocently, breath puffing warm over sensitive skin. "You should learn to relax, Master."

Obi-Wan hissed tightly, fingers compulsively lashing out to snag his Padawan's braid. He tugged Anakin closer, twining the length of hair around his fingers the way his laces has been wrapped around Anakin's only minutes before. However, that last remark was not one he could just let pass (Sith damn his dignity sometimes). "I do not _whine_, Padawa—"

Anakin smirked inwardly at the tight, mewled noise Obi-Wan made when his mouth slid wet hot over the head of his erection. It was not quite a whine, not _yet_, but like undoing his Master's trousers, he had experience in getting what he was looking for.

The boots lay half-undone and forgotten, in utter disarray, but Obi-Wan would find the strength to be irritated about that later. Right now, he was more than willing to let Anakin's influence work on him. Fingers curled possessively around the Padawan braid, other hand resting at the nape of Anakin's neck, he let himself relax.


End file.
